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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22376884">Now That's a Keeper</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/oREDACTEDo/pseuds/oREDACTEDo'>oREDACTEDo</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Operator, Operator [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Tom Clancy's Rainbow Six (Video Games)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Bars, Date Night, F/M, First Appearances, First Date, Humor, Intelligent Female Character, No Smut, Porter isn't a people person but she's a keeper, Romance, so he's kinda nervous, some language</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-01-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-01-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-28 14:42:55</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,448</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22376884</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/oREDACTEDo/pseuds/oREDACTEDo</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Porter didn't like one of the RAINBOW Administrators, but over time started realize she wasn't so bad. In fact, he started noticing that she was really, really hot. </p><p>He's taking her out to dinner before her return to the United States, but he's nervous as hell. Weird, since he's probably the most unstable out of all of Six's handpicked ops. He couldn't screw this up, right?</p><p>Right...</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>James "Smoke" Porter/Original Female Character(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Operator, Operator [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/980211</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Now That's a Keeper</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>One of my mains :'3. The voice acting for him is amazing, too.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“You look pretty.”</p><p> </p><p>Time passed, the ticking of his watch deafeningly loud.</p><p> </p><p>“...fuckin’ hell,” a scowl wrinkled his face as he brushed calloused fingers through his locks. The gelled, pristine surface was destroyed, all that time attempting to groom himself presentable wasted by a single furious flurry of his digits.</p><p> </p><p>Shit—but he was way too worked up to give a rat’s ass.</p><p> </p><p>“C’mon Porter. More <em>dreamy</em>, less <em>creepy</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>He didn’t know what about her got him on edge. Maybe it was the way she smiled. Maybe it was the way she called him ‘<em>Jamie</em>.’ Either way, it made him more anxious than anything. No one in the force ever saw him as anything but the crude, intimidating, violence loving man of war that was a hair away from being labeled as borderline manic.</p><p> </p><p>Seamus found it entertaining to poke fun at him for the infatuation. The thought of James falling for a broad rather than just craving a taste of fine meat, and for said chick to be one of RAINBOW’s finest civies in the main department no doubt, was just the icing on the cake. The woman was smart—she breathed and ate and drank knowledge. A PhD in both Psychology and Political Sciences, and to top it off being one of the best damn representatives that the U.S. Government shitted out in the last fifteen years...</p><p> </p><p>“Holy fuck, what am I gettin’ me ass into?”</p><p> </p><p>James remembered his mother telling him once that everyone who’s ever lived long enough will find someone that they’ll fall for, and hard. He thought that was a load of horse shit until that night only a month after she had been brought in. She was a busy woman in every single mission involving an operative. Every mission involving a hostage, or a successfully apprehended White Mask Terrorist. James almost felt sorry for the bastards that got stuck in the same interrogation room as her and Caveira.</p><p>
  <strong>
    
  </strong>
</p><p><strong><em>Almost</em></strong>.</p><p> </p><p>At the time, both Smoke and Thatcher were present alongside a few others: Buck, Ash, Blitz...he couldn’t remember the rest.  The living quarters in that base weren’t separated by sex. James was trying to sleep that night, his body sore from all the physical labor of carrying his prized SAS issued shotgun and gear. Over sixty pounds of armor and more made his muscles agonizingly raw, but it was a satisfying feeling. He loved the pain, craved it even, but that didn’t mean that he didn’t enjoy the sleep. So, when he heard music through the walls, practically felt it in his sheets, he kicked himself out of bed with red eyes and flared nostrils. His fist came crashing on the door just next to the room he had been residing in for the last two weeks.  Finally, after some shuffling noises inside, the door openned.  Whatever music was playing, it was old.  Vinyl record, 1920’s old.  Slow paced and soothing, all it did was make his ears drum and head beat with more and more pain. </p><p> </p><p>“Turn that fuckin’ racket down!  The bloody fuck’s wrong with ya?!”</p><p> </p><p>His words were caught in his throat though when he noticed who it was.  Lorraine Mochino—the very same women who had the pleasure of doing an assessment on him on her first day.  The very same woman that was a total tight ass behind her desk, always wearing the same dull uniform with her hair in a bun and librarian glasses to match.  Right now, she was in something much more revealing than her turtle neck and pants.  A loose tank top and shorts, along with her hair flowing down way past her navel.  Those glasses were still on, and he noticed a tinge of exhaustion in her eyes. </p><p> </p><p>“Mr. Porter?  I’m so sorry… I could have sworn my music was quiet enough for you to not hear.  I’ll make sure to turn it off.”</p><p> </p><p>James swallowed the words in his throat, finding in his mind to speak up.  “Why you listenin’ to fogy music?”</p><p> </p><p>She smiled and leaned against the door for a moment.  “I like it.  Keeps me sane with all this paperwork,” she motioned towards the ever-growing piles of paper scattered on her desk.  “Why, it wouldn’t help you?”</p><p> </p><p>“Fuck no.  I’d go nuts.”</p><p> </p><p>Her laugh, though subtle, made a grin form on his calloused lips.  “Then I’ll make sure to play it <em>extra low </em>for you, hmm?” her tone was soft and pleasant, but something about it made the hairs on the back of his neck stand.  “Goodnight, Mr. Porter.”  Lorraine went to shut the door, his shoulders rigid as he eyed her petite form.</p><p> </p><p>“…Jamie.” </p><p> </p><p>She paused, glancing up at him.  “Pardon?”</p><p> </p><p>He tensed his jaw, “Jamie.  Call me Jamie.  ‘S me nickname.”</p><p> </p><p>Another smile, and she nodded, “Jamie.  I like it.  A little cute for someone like you, though,” she poked playfully at his chest, James shooting her that crooked smirk again.  “Call me Lorraine, then.  Just don’t forget to add <strong><em>doctor </em></strong>at the front… I didn’t go to school twelve extra years for nothing.”  They went to bed after that, at least she did.  Smoke just laid in his hard ass mattress for a solid two hours <em>thinking.</em></p><p>
  
</p><p>The second time made him realize just how much sexual tension he had burning up in his gut.  Lorraine—professional, uptight, with the diction to make even a fucking <em>dictionary </em>look stupid—had quite the frisky side to her.  He only had the sheer luck of finding this out when she was doing an assessment on him after he went and punched a rookie in the mouth right after training.</p><p> </p><p>“Bastard asked fer it.”</p><p> </p><p>Wasn’t the greatest excuse, he admitted, but then again did he really need one?  James Porter wasn’t a sweet guy.  Nor was he easygoing.  He was a dangerous living weapon.  Someone who threw out his beauties to kill dozens of men at a time.  A man with blood on his hands, both figuratively and (during that moment) literally.</p><p> </p><p>“No one asks to be assaulted.  Aren’t you a professional?”</p><p> </p><p>That made him grin, “Everyone loikes bein’ hurt a lil’ bit, Lorraine.”</p><p> </p><p>She gave him that disapproving look that he oh so adored before standing up.  He could hear her back crack ever so slightly, and it was like music to his ears.  “I implore that you at least try to change your act, otherwise you’ll be removed from Rainbow.  Take it as a warning, and remember it’s not my call,” she was standing in front of him, staring down at his rigid jawline and light stubble.  James was about to snort some snarky remark, but then he felt her touch.  The pads of her fingers pressed lightly along the tip of his chin, arching his head up just a <em>tad </em>to look directly up at her.  Feeling her thumb along the corner of his lips he barley noticed the frown on her face. </p><p> </p><p>“Look at you.  Your eye is all bruised.  You don’t want to hurt that handsome face of yours, do you?”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Holy shit…</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>James would pay all his wealth to have her dip down and crash her lips on his, but that wasn’t the case.  Not now, at least.  That shocked, rather puppy dog look on his face dispersed, and he found himself grinning again.</p><p> </p><p>“Didn’ know ya cared fer me that much, Doc.”</p><p> </p><p>“I care for all of you.  It’s my job,” she let his face go, much to his disdain, before drumming her fingers onto his broad, sweaty shoulders.  “Be good, please?”</p><p> </p><p>“What do I get outta it.”</p><p> </p><p>That made her frown, but he just kept on grinning.  “How is remaining in Rainbow <em>not </em>a good enough reward for you?”</p><p> </p><p>He shrugged, “If Six kicks me can ta the curb that ain’ shit to me.  Dumbest mistake they’ll eva make.  I’m one of the best around.”  His confidence was just oozing out of him.  James was expecting yet another book smart comment, but instead he got her <em>smile.  </em>So small and elegant, just like how she looked when she walked across the room to open the door to her office, and right then and there he imagined bending her over her table and-</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Stop, bad thought, bad thought. Calm down ya horny bastard.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Go be a team player now, will you?  Seamus would know, he played Rugby.  Maybe you should confine in him for help.” </p><p> </p><p>James stood, his body taller than hers.  He gets close, maybe a little too close, but she didn’t seem to retract from him.  “Awe, now don’t go doubtin’ yerself doc.  All I need is you…”</p><p> </p><p>“Well, why don’t you prove that and show me a little progress, <em>Jamie</em>.” </p><p> </p><p>There it was—that tone.  It was the first time he heard it, and damn did it sound fucking nice.  He would have thought his mind was playing games with him if it weren’t for that mischievous glint in her eyes.  Porter knew then and there that he had found himself a keeper. There was some severe sexual tension in her office between them. She was way too smart to not notice. That was why he was here, standing in his room, in the nicest clothes he could find in his flat.  A grey button down and some black slacks and oxfords, not brogue. They were going to a nice dinner, after all. Now if only he could get this fucking tie straight…</p><p> </p><p>A knock on the door made him jump. Porter, with his tie still disheveled and his hair now a tad too spikey for formalities, stumbled forward towards the door like a lost, unsure, drunken lunatic. With hands sweaty as can be he opened the door abruptly, much so that Lorraine jumped at the vulgar, sudden motion and his rather demeaning stare. To a slender form in a tight as can be dress. Tight. Cherry red. Champaign heels. Long hair like a virgin princess on a tower, cascading down and only missing the white flowers. The lips matched the rest, her eyes sharp like a cat’s.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>This woman could bang me to a whole other <strong>dimension</strong>.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>“Hi, Jamie,” she gasped, patting the thrill in her heart. Porter stammered back and was overwhelmed with embarrassment.</p><p> </p><p>“L-Lorraine, yer here already?”</p><p> </p><p>She blinked, “I’m actually late. I had a hard time deciding what dress to wear.” Before him she posed, and he wished he didn’t give her that gawking, openmouthed stare. “Do I look nice?”</p><p> </p><p>“Didn’ take ya fer the modeling type. Great, ya look fantastic,” he admitted, dumbly might he add, and it made him wince. Lorraine laughed, but the beautiful sound fell short. “What happened to your eye?”</p><p> </p><p>“Whadda’ ya mean?” he asked.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s bloodshot.”</p><p> </p><p>Crap, was it? Quickly returning to the bathroom, the only place with a mirror, he looked at himself to see, indeed, his eyes were bloodshot. Dammit, he must have been stressed. That, or all these years of toxins might have secretly been seeping through his gas mask… Porter, with his outfit still majorly malfunctioning, and his hands growing sweatier by the second, washed his prickly face fast and reached for the cottony towel. Upon finished, he noticed Lorraine standing behind him, her eyebrows high and her smile…</p><p> </p><p>…there was something off about it.</p><p> </p><p>“Nice place you have here, Jamie.”</p><p> </p><p>“I didn’ get ta finish cleanin’ up,” he tried to play it cool, sound sharp, but inside he slurred. Bastard wasn’t even drunk yet.</p><p> </p><p>She rose her brow suspiciously, “And why would your place have to be immaculate today?”</p><p> </p><p><em>Shit, </em>he thought, <em>shit, shit, shit, shit, shit. </em></p><p>
  
</p><p>“Well, jus’ in case you took a peek in when I opened the door. Don’ want ya thinkin’ I’m a pig now, would I?”</p><p> </p><p>He hoped that made up for his real, actual intentions. Lorraine only shrugged, turning him over with her soft hands to do that blasted Windsor knot he’d been watching videos on but couldn’t quite understand well. It had been too long since he needed to wear one. Not often did Porter do something commemorative.</p><p> </p><p>“Don’t all soldiers know how to tie a tie?”</p><p> </p><p>“I know all kinds o’ ways ta kill a bloke,” he admitted, finding his statement distasteful. Lorraine only laughed, the pleasant sound sending his heart on overdrive. Already he’d forgotten what they were supposed to be doing.</p><p> </p><p>Dinner, shit, yeah. Dinner. At a nice place, too fancy for his taste, but nice. Get her some local catch, some white wine. Shit, make it champagne. It was a celebration, at least for him. Porter wanted to make tonight nice for her—<strong>special</strong>—since she wasn’t staying in the English isles for long. Next week she was heading back to her hometown of Washington D.C.; she’d only been staying in the foreign country for work purposes. Luckily for him, he had the time and the place both on his side. How well everything fell into place was God given. Now, he just had to do it right, starting off with a real. Expensive. Dinner.</p><p> </p><p>All women loved those.</p><p> </p><p>“So, I’ve been thinking, and I don’t want to disappoint you, but can’t we skip the dinner?”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Fuck. </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>Was she canceling on him? No, that didn’t make sense either. Why else would she look so nice right now? Porter took another look over of her body—all tall, caramel, and sexy—and for a second got caught up on her thighs. Obviously, she worked out, and though it wasn’t a skimpy dress, it was short enough to put the goods out on display. Why would she choose to wear that with him? He just offered the night as a little fun for coworkers. Surely no date, he bitterly had to reassure, after she firmly warned that it was against policy for them to even hint on romantic relations. Probably since the place was nice—real nice—and the food was seafood—real seafood—not that fake shit.</p><p> </p><p>What were they talking about? Oh yeah, dinner.</p><p> </p><p>“Wot?” he hated how he had nothing else to say.</p><p> </p><p>Lorraine had a sour look, “I researched the place. I hate expensive food. Let’s go do something else more fun.” Oh, he never expected a lady to say that. Porter at first didn’t know what to suggest. A walk by the beach? A stroll in the park? A local bistro? Shit, he was in a nice ass suit though.</p><p> </p><p>But as she pulled him towards the elevator, down the lobby of his apartment complex, and completely bypassed the garage where his newly cleaned car was, Porter could only find himself stunned at the setting that she had chosen. A pub with the loud music and rowdy night life, with the well-lined bar and loud patrons and darts and pool and televisions playing local rugby.</p><p> </p><p>A fucking pub.</p><p> </p><p>And seeing the woman laugh her head off when he told her about the time he’d been knocked out cold with a toilet seat, the blush of booze painting her cheeks pink and the heave of her chest beneath the well fitting dress, made his mind feel buzzed. Whether it was the beer, or the whiskey, or the fact that he was resonating with her in his natural environment. She only grew more pleased when he got a discount for not only being of the S.A.S., but also being a regular and friend of the proprietor. “When I woke up, I was in an alleyway with piss on me,” he finished, Lorraine tearing up and holding her nose.</p><p> </p><p>“Shit, didya get sum booze up yer nose?”</p><p> </p><p>“No, no, no,” she giggled, her eyes tearing from the sting as she fought the urge to laugh. Another round of shots, and she downed it like a champ.</p><p> </p><p>“Be honest,” he began, licking his lips, his tie long undone, “How long you’ve been attending bars.”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m embarrassed,” she began, and Porter only chuckled.</p><p> </p><p>“C’mon, tell me, I’m one ta hold secrets close…”</p><p> </p><p>“Never,” she admitted, the surprise on his face spreading, “I’ve never been to a bar. Until tonight.”</p><p> </p><p>Porter was stunned, confused. She’d been acting so natural, like she was really enjoying it. Reluctantly he leaned in, “Yer pullin’ me dick.”</p><p> </p><p>“No! Heavens, I mean it Jamie.”</p><p> </p><p>“Then why the hell are we here?” he asked, albeit a bit concerned. She only shrugged, sipping on her bottle of stout and shivering at the bitter flavor. It was cute, he thought, and he couldn’t see enough of it.</p><p> </p><p>“Cuz I wanted to go somewhere that felt natural for you.”</p><p> </p><p>“Fer me?” he asked.</p><p> </p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p> </p><p>“Why?”</p><p> </p><p>Lorraine giggled, her hand teasingly pushing his shoulder as she snorted. “I wanted to know more about you, dummy. You’d be too uptight in a fancy restaurant, you kidding me?” Wow, was he confused. She kept on drinking, kept on laughing to herself. The booze was making her lightheaded and fluttery. Sometimes a man would look at her the wrong way and he’d get pissed, instantly, and scare ‘em off with a glower.</p><p> </p><p>“Guess you know how ta read people, doc,” he grinned, taking a big gulp of his beer. “’s long as yer enjoyin’ yerself, I don’ mind where we’re at.”</p><p> </p><p>“I am having fun! Are you having fun?”</p><p> </p><p>“You tell me,” he snickered.</p><p> </p><p>They spoke of random things, such as their lives and interests for some time. Her love for water sports, his liking to watching boxing. Her being allergic to broccoli of all things, and him always hating those tiny little smart cars. Him not really talking much to his family lately, and her surprisingly being a Christian goody two shoes. He figured that blew away his chances for getting some action tonight.</p><p> </p><p>Then again, that sort of made him feel shitty longing for it.</p><p> </p><p>“Why the dress?” he asked, still feeling rather sober. The woman was swaying on her seat, humming pleasantly and moving to the sound of the songs of the Rolling Stones in the background.</p><p> </p><p>“Huh?”</p><p> </p><p>“C’mon, spill it out, luv. Why you dressed so sexy? Yer always so front and mean at work. Never thought you’d own anythin’ like that.”</p><p> </p><p>For the first time tonight, she stopped smiling for a second. Porter wondered if he asked the wrong question. “I dress professionally while at work. Besides, tonight was different and… I wanted to impress you,” she admitted, rather easily too. Porter’s eyes widened a bit, and she only giggled. Again, she posed, her hips swaying along the seat.</p><p> </p><p>“I’ll admit, I wasn’t expectin’ that.”</p><p> </p><p>“Hah! Of course you were. Why else did you go all googly eye on me and clean your apartment,” she said in a rather haute tone.</p><p> </p><p>“You implying somethin’?” he asked, and she only grinned wider.</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t need to. You’re awful at hiding things.”</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Oh, crap. </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>Nearly choking on his beer, he could only watch as she got up from her seat to excused herself to the bathroom.</p><p> </p><p>“What do ya mean?” he stammered.</p><p> </p><p>Lorraine fingered his tie, tugging it lightly until he could feel her lips graze lightly against his own. No kiss, but he was sure there was lipstick on him now. “Sure the whole bad boy thing is awfully sexy, but I think your lack of a straight face makes you even more irresistible.”</p><p> </p><p>Words caught in his throat, he smirked awkwardly, not sure if she were insulting him, or complimenting him, or both. Often times, he was a hotheaded bastard who’d even punch a kid for looking at him wrong, but something about the way she talked. Even if she insulted him, he wouldn’t give a shit. Then he realized how bold this lady was. A war dog, who was dangerous beyond all measures. Inside and out. Mind of a genius, with hands big and scarred enough to break her pretty little neck. He should have seen her as dumb, but that recklessness she had for being such a hot, small, smart as hell little gal in her tiny dress and heels so sharp they could cut like a tactical knife.</p><p> </p><p>It was a total turn on.</p><p> </p><p>He didn’t want her to have the last laugh before her little break from him. “What happened ta not havin’ relations with yer coworkers, huh?”</p><p> </p><p>“We don’t work in the same department, do we James?” she asked.</p><p> </p><p>Porter gulped, “No.” She gave him a wink before heading towards the restroom, earning a few looks along the way without even trying. Porter, with his heart racing in his chest, rubbed his lips together absentmindedly and thought for a while about what she meant.</p><p> </p><p>“…oh.”</p><p> </p><p>Later that night, he cleared out his schedule for the week she’d return to England the following month.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Possible Chapter 2 as them married? Idk, might be a big stretch...</p><p>Some soldiers look for romance too, right? Maybe not Porter if he were a real person, but it's a nice thought. Hardened man with a lot of regrets having a pretty wife to come home to that'll comfort him. Killing people, though they're bad, probably takes a toll on him, but his pride doesn't let him show it. He's used to it, but he loves sinking in a bed and being a husband for a change. To a lady he probably doesn't see himself deserving.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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